by Britt Ringel
The bridge’s speakers crackled to life and Cooke’s rich, baritone filled the bridge. “Greetings, Admiral Wallace, my heartfelt compliments on your punctuality. As the aggressing officer, would you care to open the negotiations or shall you defer?”
The message raced the 10lm between the fleets. During that time, both armadas came to relative rest. Twenty minutes after the message was sent, its reply was received. “Greetings, Admiral Cooke. Please accept my highest regards. I believe, at this time, I shall defer. I would like to assess your fleet during our opening maneuvers before I initiate into parlay. We still have nearly an hour before my casus bellum takes effect and hostilities may, officially, commence.”
“So we’re going to make practice runs at each other for the next hour?” Vernay asked dubiously.
“From my understanding, yes,” Heskan replied. “I think each admiral wants to evaluate the quality of the opposing ship captains. Admiral Cooke explained that during these trial passes, the admiral that places his fleet into superior positions most often gains considerable edge during the final negotiation that will take place before we’re allowed to fire.”
“We’re receiving sailing instructions,” Selvaggio declared.
Heskan read over the instructions on his chair arm console. The order was to form into their sections. On the tactical plot, Wallace’s flotilla was breaking into their own, respective sections. “Let’s get formed up, Diane.” Soon, the fifteen ships defending Seshafi would divide into three groups of five. These sections, the vanguard, main and rearguard, would sail between 10ls to 15ls from each other. Their fleet speeds would vary between .15c and .25c, resulting in roughly forty-second intervals between each section.
Heskan activated the rearguard’s command channel and announced, “Attention, captains, we’re forming up now. From this moment forward, the enemy will scrutinize our every move. Your actions, along with those of your crew, will go a long way in determining which fleet admiral has the upper hand in negotiations. In essence, the battle begins right now. I’m confident that each of you will perform to the highest standards of the Seshafian Navy. Heskan out.” Earlier in the morning, Heskan had mentally prepared his speech, taking great care to avoid saying “Brevic Navy” out of habit. It felt strange to invoke a corporate navy but he realized that even though four of the five ships in the rearguard were Hollaran snows, all of the vessels were crewed by Seshafi’s sons and daughters. Even the majority of Elathra was operated by sailors from Seshafi. Sitting on her bridge over the last week felt formal and distant. Defending a star system barely known to him, utilizing unfamiliar tactics, fighting in a strange ship; all these factors combined to make the pending battle surreal. Is this what it is to be a mercenary? Fighting cold, empty battles that have no personal meaning? Heskan sighed at the thought. War should never be a business.
Elathra took station behind the main. In her wake, the snows, Rindr, Anakim and Ravana, and finally the corvette, Honor, formed up. His ships were now sailing in an orderly line with just 3ls between adjacent ships within the section. Even that relatively short distance seemed like an endless expanse to Heskan, as Elathra and Honor were too far apart to support each other.
Heskan watched anxiously on the tactical plot as Wallace’s sections became discernible. The Red Admiral divided his ships into three sections as Cooke had. Each fleet’s fourth-rate was leading its van while Seshafi’s third-rate, Diomedes, and Sade’s second-rate, Formidable, led their fleet’s main. The vans appeared to be closely matched to Heskan’s eyes. Wallace’s fourth-rate was unconventionally armed in the same manner the second- and third-rates were, while Seshafi’s Ajax had her batteries split between her sides; however, all but the last two ships in the Seshafian van were matched against ships of the same class. Those final two corvettes, Dash and Fly, would be pitted against Saden snows.
“Nearly the same tonnage between the two vans,” Vernay remarked, echoing Heskan’s sentiments. “Even the ‘vettes aren’t severely outmatched.” She looked down at her console quickly and added, “Just four hundred tonne difference between them and those snows.”
Saden superiority became evident upon inspection of the main sections. Not only was Diomedes out-classed by Formidable, the Saden main contained two brigs to Seshafi’s one. The defense fleet’s largest snow, Malabar, would be cruelly matched against the brig, Renown.
Heskan finally turned his eyes to his counterpart, the enemy’s rearguard. One brig and four snows, he counted. It could have been worse but then again, I have to face down that brig. Images of Anelace being pummeled by Blackheart flashed through his mind. The pirate schooner had grossed over eight thousand tonnes while his current adversary, a McMillon Group-owned privateer named Scepter, was merely four thousand five hundred. However, Heskan knew that Scepter was purpose-built as a military ship whereas Blackheart had been a converted civilian schooner.
To his left, Vernay listed Scepter’s armament. “Two dorsal tri-GP laser mounts, and a dual mount on each side of her hull.” She looked at Lieutenant Hall and said, “She’ll bear up to eight of her lasers to us during each pass. Does that sound right, Mark?”
The weapons officer nodded. “Scepter is captained by a privateer name Gael Harrist. She’s very good and very experienced. She won’t make any mistakes and you can expect her to present the maximum possible laser batteries on each run.”
Heskan frowned at the news. Elathra was not only out-massed by one thousand tonnes but also outgunned. She could barely return two-thirds of Scepter’s fire in the form of her two dual-GP mounts and her twin, fixed particle cannons. It’s a good thing we’ll only have to tolerate a pass or two but at least she’ll respect those particle beams. They may be antiquated but they can be daunting.
Heskan’s rearguard fell into line with the other sections and Cooke’s second order came through. The entire line of battle rotated ninety degrees to form line abreast and began to close the 10lm distance to the enemy. Each ship settled into the fleet speed of .2c. Cooke had informed his section commanders that due to the disparity in tonnage between the fleets, he would position each combat pass so that the combined closing speed was at least .25c. At such high speeds, accuracy would be impaired but no ship would be forced to withstand more than twenty seconds of direct fire. While the rated ships were large enough to carry missiles, even the largest first-rate vessels of corporate war were generally constrained to five or fewer missile ports given their ten thousand tonne restriction. The limitation was partially offset by placing all missile ports on the same broadside to maximize throw-weight, but Heskan had scoffed when Cooke called Formidable’s throw-weight of four missiles per volley fearsome.
Without the ability to overwhelm the enemy, missiles were used right before and during a combat pass, timed to arrive before and during the fleet’s direct fire. Elathra would not face a line ship as part of the rearguard and Vernay had been very relieved when Heskan informed her that they likely would not be tested in point defense during the battle. It was a mixed blessing, Heskan knew. Missiles were devastating but could be intercepted while direct laser fire was unavoidable.
The fleets crawled toward each other on the tactical plot. After twenty-two minutes, they narrowed the gap to just over 1lm. As the range dropped to precisely 63ls, Cooke’s order to form “line ahead, relative rest” reached Heskan. He quickly repeated the order down his chain of command and ten seconds later the entire fleet rotated, as one, a full one hundred eighty degrees to null its forward momentum. Twenty seconds later, the fleet turned again, in unison, ninety degrees to line ahead at relative rest. The maneuver took thirty-four seconds to execute and positioned them exactly 60ls from their enemy. Heskan marveled at the impeccable timing of Cooke’s commands. What’s even more amazing is that he’s dozens of light-seconds behind us on the C-3 ship so there’s not only the time lag to account for between his fleet and the enemy’s but also between the fleet and his command ship. With command abilities that surpassed his own, it was easy for He
skan to see why Seshafi’s ship captains held such utter reliance upon their fleet commander.
New orders of speed and course were issued. “The game’s afoot,” Heskan declared. “Look sharp, Diane.” Over the next two minutes and forty seconds, each fleet performed as fluidly as an orchestra following its conductor, enacting furious maneuvers and counter-maneuvers designed to force the enemy line out of position.
During the opening run, Cooke’s van valiantly charged ahead while the main and rear slid “sideways” toward Wallace’s fleet. Wallace’s van was late in reacting, resulting in the Seshafian van achieving the favorable position of three dimensionally “crossing the T” ahead of Wallace’s line. With the opposing fleets hurtling toward each other at .26c, Wallace was forced to order his ships to decline the pass and maneuver away from the enemy. As each line reformed, 2lm from each other, Wallace complimented over the general frequency, “Well done, Piers. You timed that magnificently. By the time I saw that van’s thrust, I was out of hand. Now let’s see if I can return the favor!”
Wallace did not. On the second pass, Cooke correctly identified Wallace’s feint and ordered a vertical line ahead to disrupt the axis of his attack. The pass was inconclusive except for the splendid shots Heskan’s rearguard would have made on an out-of-position Saden rear. Vernay’s hands tightened into fists as she glared at the ship’s chronometer. “I can’t believe we weren’t allowed to fire,” she grumbled. “We would’ve lit that section up with the angle we came in on.”
Wallace’s unrestrained praise once again echoed on the bridge. “Now, now, Admiral, you must be a gentleman and not embarrass me too sufficiently,” he chided.
Cooke’s jaunty reply sounded over the speakers. “It’s been a good show, yes? I’m rather hopeful that you might initiate negotiations at this point, sir.”
Both lines reformed and were cruising on the same plane, in the same direction, 60ls from each other. Hostilities would be permitted in less than five minutes.
“Piers, our demands are in the casus bellum,” Wallace stated.
Twenty seconds later, Cooke replied coolly, “Oliver, your C.B. demands nearly a complete takeover. You mustn’t think we could possibly agree to that. For the record, we’d consider permitting joint sales rights in Sistrum.”
More time elapsed before the Red Admiral’s response. “Nevertheless, my friend, our demands remain as written in the casus bellum.”
Cooke clucked, “Now come, Admiral, you must admit that I’ve had my way with you during our runs. You have to be amenable to some compromise.”
Stress levels on Elathra’s bridge rose with each verbal interchange. Heskan noticed that the Saden line was beginning to skid toward them.
Wallace’s next transmission was received with less than two minutes until zero-hour and for the first time, Heskan heard a sliver of doubt in Wallace’s voice. “I’m sorry, Piers, but I cannot. Are you sure you couldn’t accept the casus bellum, in toto?”
Cooke’s answer was resolute. “Absolutely not, Oliver. That will never happen.”
Twenty more seconds and Wallace’s cryptic reply echoed through the bridge. “Then may Camille forgive me.”
The twin battle lines continued their collision courses. Without fresh orders, Cooke’s line sailed straight forward while Wallace’s formation maintained line ahead but slid toward the Seshafians from the side. The distance between the two fleets had diminished to 50ls. Twenty more seconds came and went without a response from Cooke. Another ten seconds of silence passed before Truesworth exclaimed, “Captain, message from Diomedes! Her Combat Information Center is reporting an explosion on her bridge!”
“What?” Heskan and Vernay asked in unison.
Truesworth pressed his shocksuit helmet closer to his left ear. “Ajax is reporting the same thing. She says her entire bridge compartment was just destroyed.”
Heskan mashed his command channel button to report the disaster to Cooke when an inbound message superseded him. “Attention, Admiral Chattersby, this is Lieutenant Commander Clark on the Fleet Command Ship. We’ve suffered some kind of catastrophic failure on our bridge. There’s been an explosion and we think the entire fleet command crew is dead. I repeat, Admiral Cooke is dead! You must assume command of the fleet!”
“Oh my God,” Hall gasped from his station.
Vernay looked grimly at Heskan. “Chattersby is dead on Diomedes—”
“You know Commodore Johnstone on Ajax is too,” Heskan added.
“They wiped out the entire chain of command,” Vernay finished.
Over the bridge speakers, the general frequency became chaos as news of the Saden treachery spread through the fleet like a wildfire.
“We have to surrender,” an unidentified captain stated.
“Who’s going to lead us now?” a second lamented.
“Their van is closing! Ajax, strike your lights!”
In front of Heskan, Truesworth cried out, “Vampires! Missiles from Formidable.”
Heskan jerked to his left. “WEPS, track them,” he snapped.
Despite the command, Hall continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the tactical plot.
“Hall!” Vernay screamed. He blinked shimmering eyes at Vernay who pointed insistently at the wall screen. “Do. Your. Job.”
Hall lurched back to face his station. Over the bridge speakers, a tormented voice cried out, “We’re coming in straight and slow, someone do something!”
“The missiles have locked on to Diomedes, ma’am,” Hall declared. “They aren’t a threat to us.”
Vernay nodded briskly. The tactical plot flickered with the direct weapons fire exchanged between the vanguards. “At our present closure rate, we have twenty seconds until contact, sir. We’re just going to skim GP range.”
Heskan pressed his section’s comm frequency and hastily ordered, “Attention, rearguard commanders, fire on your counterpart and maintain line ahead on Elathra. Heskan out.”
“Not much of a tactic,” Vernay critiqued lightly.
Heskan nodded in frustration and admitted, “Sometimes you just gotta ride it out.” He looked toward the front of the bridge. To the left of the center screen, a side display showed the status of each ship in the fleet, with focus on Heskan’s rearguard. The right side screen displayed the nearly real-time optical of Elathra’s target, the privateer brig skidding quickly toward her. A hasty check on the main tactical plot confirmed Vernay’s projection that the opposing rearguard sections would only briefly cross into the 5ls range of general-purpose lasers. The angle of their pass was too steep, Heskan analyzed. Sure, the vanguard sections faced each other for a good fourteen seconds of fire but that’s causing their rearguard to just barely clip us. Scepter may not even get a chance to batter down our defensive screen.
As the lead ships of the rearguards closed on each other, Elathra’s particle cannons, with their 6ls range, would instigate the exchange. Selvaggio quickly presented Elathra’s best face to the enemy, straight on. Like most system defense ships, a majority of her armament was designed to fire in her forward arc. Both particle cannons and the dual GP laser mounts could fire in front of the snow. Only her carronade lasers, limited to starboard and port arcs only, would remain silent as the ships passed.
Moments after the cannons fired, Heskan watched Scepter’s twin dorsal tri-GP laser mounts begin to strobe briefly as she cruised to within 5ls. The brig was presenting her starboard broadside to bring both tri-GP mounts and a dual GP turret into the fight.
Heskan witnessed a single, circular distortion appear before the brig on the optical as one of Elathra’s particle cannons struck home.
That single burst from Elathra’s starboard cannon consisted of thirty, distinct nano-second pulses of neutron particles. The sheer power of these pulses helped offset many of the deficiencies of the weapon. Each of the thirty pulses issued in a single salvo not only held substantially more mass than the “massless” photons in lasers, but also unleashed those particles several centimeters
into their targets. Elathra’s neutron beam burst utterly bypassed Scepter’s thin AIPS screen and continued its journey toward the brig’s hull. Duralloy cleaved from the brig’s side, culminating in a muted flash of an explosion near the ship’s afterdeck. Before Heskan could compliment Hall’s marksmanship, Elathra’s optical flickered as her own AIPS screen struggled against the initial barrage of Scepter’s GP lasers. It was over in a heartbeat. Moments after the exchange of fire, Wallace’s rearguard section passed over the Seshafians and receded from weapons range.
“Damage report,” Vernay demanded.
Lieutenant Gables, sitting at the Operations station, answered after a brief hesitation. “Not bad. Our screen held everything out except the last shots, just some minor damage to our ventral radiator.” She shook her head. “The damned thing’s so big it’s just begging to be hit.”
“What’d we do to that brig?” Heskan asked.
“Still analyzing the results of our pass,” Truesworth said. “A particle beam definitely got through.”
Ahead of Elathra, neither Seshafi’s vanguard nor main section had changed course or speed since their combat runs. Over the general frequency, a voice filled with anguish wailed, “Look at Diomedes! She’s nearly finished.”
Commander Tannault broke in over the unknown captain. “She got hit by some missiles and then took considerable direct fire from Formidable. Ajax doesn’t appear to have fared much better.”
Heskan heard another young voice exclaim, “Dash just struck her lights! She’s out of the fight.”
“They’re coming around for another pass!” cried a desperate ship captain from the van. “We’ve got to surrender!”
Heskan studied the flotilla status display. The vanguard had suffered horribly during the first pass. Ajax lost a third of her missile armament and several laser turrets. Her lower deck was ablaze amidship. Dash had succumbed to the hellish fire of two snows from the enemy van, resulting in little more than a lifeless hulk drifting within the formation. The van’s sole brig had also endured a vicious raking and Dash’s sister corvette, Fly, had taken damage as well. Only the snow, Tigre, emerged unharmed, her opposing counterpart electing to “double up” on Dash during the first exchange. In recompense, the Seshafian van had been so utterly shocked and disorganized it had inflicted only light damage upon the enemy.